


dance with me

by belovedmuerto



Series: in a cabin in the woods [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Dancing, Fluff, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 21:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9678317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belovedmuerto/pseuds/belovedmuerto
Summary: Natasha dances. Bucky and Natasha dance. Bucky and Steve dance. Natasha goes out to breakfast.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Been sitting on this one a while. Because I seem to lack all energy to do anything but sit in bed after work these days. Oh well. 
> 
> Also because i couldn't think of a decent title. So i settled for this.

When he comes in from his run, Natasha has pushed all of the furniture to the back of the room and rolled up the rug (not that there’s much furniture: the couch and coffee table and armchair--they haven’t really decorated, they don’t really own a lot of stuff, although Steve has noticed that Bucky keeps getting books in the mail and they’re kind of starting to be everywhere and he hopes Bucky decides to build some bookshelves soon). She’s on the floor stretching, in a sports bra and workout leggings, her ballet slippers on the floor nearby. 

Steve blinks at her for a moment, still catching his breath a little, because he’d really tried to push himself for the last mile or three.

“Bucky said the floor could handle it,” she says, coming out of the split she’d been in and grabbing her shoes.

Steve shrugs. If Buck had said the floor could handle her dancing on it, it could. Bucky would know, he’s the one who put the floor in. He glances at the clock on the mantle. Bucky is not an early riser; he never has been. “He told you that today?”

She grins up at him and then starts lacing her shoes. “No, the other night.”

“Ah.”

“Coffee’s on,” she adds.

Steve nods again. “Mind if I grab some paper?”

She shakes her head. “No, you can draw me if you want.”

“Thanks.”

She smiles again, just a little this time, and it’s fond and content. It’s one of those smiles that Steve doesn’t see very often, and never fails to warm him because he can tell how genuine it is. Natasha has a lot of genuine smiles, but this one is the real deal. Actually genuine. There’s nothing of the spy behind it. Nothing practiced at all.

Steve goes through the house into the bedroom. He can just about see the top of Bucky’s head on the pillow; he’s almost entirely buried under the comforter and blankets and sheet. Not that it’s cold out, it’s just that they both like to sleep in very little, and be toasty warm at the same time. The dogs are arrayed around the room in their beds, the cats both curled up in their apartment in the corner. Steve goes around the bed and grabs his sketchbook, hunts up a few pieces of charcoal and a couple of pencils, already thinking about what he wants to do. 

He wants to start with just some really quick sketches, just try to grab her lines, before he does anything else.

He hears the music start up in the other room, very low.

Bucky snuffles into his pillow, shifting a little. He’s not fooling Steve with the sleepily shifting act, although Steve is sure it’s not entirely an act. Bucky has clearly been awake-ish for a while. Probably since Natasha got up and started moving around. Possibly since Steve got up for his run. 

Steve dumps everything at the end of the bed and then leans over and tugs the covers away from Bucky’s face, just enough to see him smiling a little, just enough so that he can press a quick kiss to his forehead.

Bucky mumbles something happy and incoherent into his pillow, not even opening his eyes.

“Natasha’s going to dance, Buck,” Steve tells him, soft and low.

Bucky makes a series of noises, affirmative. Possibly he’s saying ‘she told me she would be’, but Steve isn’t entirely sure.

“Coffee’s on,” he adds.

Bucky makes another noise, and Steve presses another quick kiss to his temple, pulls the covers back up to Bucky’s ears the way he likes it, grabs his charcoals and sketchbook, takes a moment to kick his shoes off, and heads back out to the living room by way of the kitchen and a mug of coffee.

\----

Natasha takes her time warming up, using the wall or the mantle to help her maintain her balance. Steve leaves her to it, settles on the sofa with his sketchbook and charcoals. 

The first couple of sketches are lightning fast, more a series of lines than anything else, vaguely suggestive of a figure, trying to catch the movement of her, trying to catch a sense of motion. He’s not sure he manages it, but it’s good practice. He goes through several pages just doing that before he settles in and starts working on capturing her hands. He’s always loved drawing hands.

Bucky is generally his main human subject, so it’s nice to have someone else to draw. It’s good to stretch a little, drawing someone he hasn’t spent much time drawing before. He doesn’t get much practice drawing Bucky in motion. Trying to draw Bucky in motion pretty much always ends up in abandoned drawings and orgasms.

It has for ages, ever since they were young, ever since they started fooling around, long before things got serious between them. Bucky says it really gets him going, gets him all bothered, Steve drawing him. 

When Steve is having him pose, it’s one thing. He can obey, when he’s been arranged and told to stay still. Steve can manage to get through a whole piece, when Bucky’s been told to stay still. Bucky likes it, and Steve likes making him stay still, making him pose. It’s been that way for as long as he can remember, there’s always that little thrill. Steve doesn’t question it. He’s merely grateful that he still gets to have that.

He doesn’t get that little thrill when he’s trying to catch Bucky in motion. He also doesn’t get much drawing done, so he doesn’t really try anymore, unless he has no intention of getting much drawing done. 

So it’s nice, drawing Natasha dance. It’s different and it’s good practice, and he’s not in imminent danger of being ravished by his subject.

Eventually, Bucky joins him on the couch, sitting on his left with a mug of coffee in hand, pulling his bare feet up and tucking them into the crack between the cushions. He’s got epic bedhead, but he’s more or less dressed, in sweats and a busted old t-shirt. There are a couple of holes around the neck, and Bucky’d cut off the sleeves (along with half of the sides of the shirt). Bucky is fond of the shirt, and Steve doesn’t get why, but he does get the appeal, because he always does a double take when he sees Buck in that shirt (he’d asked once, why Bucky had mutilated a perfectly good t-shirt like that, and Bucky had snorted and told him to shut the hell up, and then simply said “Aesthetic”. Steve still doesn’t understand). He can see the definition of Bucky’s obliques and lats in this shirt, the metal arm and the flesh both on display. Steve loves Bucky’s arms.

That shirt makes him think things, and Steve blushes.

Bucky gives him sly side-eye, fully aware of what Steve thinks of him in that shirt; his eyes are sleepy and hooded and sexy as hell. He takes a sip of his coffee and leans a little into Steve, watching him draw Natasha over his shoulder.

“You smell sweaty,” he murmurs.

Steve hadn’t taken a shower, or eaten, or done anything more than take off his sneakers, too taken by the idea of drawing Natasha while she dances to remember any of that. He shrugs, still sketching. He’d completely forgotten his coffee, too. It’s probably gone cold by now. Oh well, he’ll stick it in the microwave later, partly so as not to waste it, partly because of the look of betrayed outrage that always crosses Bucky’s face when he sees Steve drinking reheated coffee.

In front of them, Natasha continues to move, continues to take no notice of her audience. She is dancing only for the joy it brings her. Steve can understand that.

The house is quiet except for her music, except for the sounds of her feet hitting the floor. After a while, Bucky starts tapping, and she looks over enough to smile her thanks at him. Steve doesn’t quite understand, but he goes with it.

“Sasha,” she says eventually. “Come dance with me.”

Bucky shrugs and sets his coffee on the floor, next to Steve’s. He stands and stretches, pulls the laces of his sweats tight and re-ties them, which is probably for the best, and crosses the room to Natasha’s side.

“It’s been a really long time,” he says, and Steve only sort of notices that they’ve switched to Russian.

“You can still keep time. I’ll walk you through it.”

Bucky shrugs again, and Steve just watches for a few minutes, while Natasha walks Bucky through what she wants him to do, walks him through it slowly and then one more time at half speed. 

Their ceilings are high enough that Bucky can lift Natasha when he needs to. The room is small enough otherwise, however, that he can’t really toss her, at least not at full strength. They’re both grinning when they finish the dance, and they go through it another two times, just having fun, giving Steve something to draw. 

Steve draws furiously, desperate to catch them moving, caught up in it.

When they finish, they’re laughing.

“Hey Stevie,” Bucky says.

Steve pauses and looks up. Bucky’s giving him a look that means he’s going to get dragged back to bed sooner rather than later.

“Yeah, Buck?”

Bucky looks at Natasha and she shrugs. “Put on something I can dance to, huh?”

Steve smiles. “Yeah, okay.”

He puts down his sketchpad and the charcoals and goes to the stereo. He takes Natasha’s phone off the speaker and sets it aside. He debates getting out some of the records, but it would probably be easier to just play a mix off of Bucky’s laptop, so he opts to hook that up instead. Thankfully the laptop is nearby, for once, instead of god only knows where like usual.

He pulls up one of Bucky’s dancehall mixes and hits play. When he turns to go back to the couch, Bucky’s already grinning, his hips already swaying just a little bit with the music.

Bucky still loves to dance.

And he’s always been a fantastic teacher. He’d taught all of his sisters to dance, on weekends when they couldn’t go outside. He’d taught Steve to dance, when Steve needed distraction, not well enough to leave the house.

Now he teaches Natasha. She’s already a dancer, already understands movement and being led by her partner, so she takes to it quickly. 

Not only that, but they’re both trained in combat, in martial arts, so she knows how to be thrown. Soon enough, they’re moving back and forth across the living room. Natasha’s feet barely touch the ground, it seems, she’s flipping over Bucky’s head, over his arm, diving through his legs while he moves.

Steve stops drawing and just watches them. They’re both breathless and laughing when they finally stop, several songs later. Natasha collapses on the couch next to Steve, and Bucky turns and beckons to him.

“Come dance with me, Stevie.”

Steve smiles, but he doesn’t get up. He’s memorizing this moment, this happiness. He never wants to forget the way Bucky is glowing right now, the way he looks, the love shining in his eyes. Slowly, Steve stands.

“Thought you couldn’t dance, Rogers,” Natasha says.

Steve shrugs. “I can dance just fine. Just no good at leadin’.”

He crosses the room and steps into Bucky’s space.

They start a little bit slowly, because it’s actually been a while since they’ve really danced together, at least not like this. Not like the way they used to, when Steve was learning, desperate to be able to fly like some of the girls would when they danced with Bucky. He’d always wanted to feel that way, that cared for, that safe and protected. Bucky always had his partner’s back, and it was no different with Steve.

It’s no different now. Bucky’s an amazing dancer. And Steve is bigger now, a little taller than Bucky, but he’s light on his feet despite his size. It makes him feel like himself again. It makes him feel like the person he still thinks of himself as. It takes a song or two for them to adjust to Steve not being tiny, but they fall into step easily, and soon enough Steve’s doing the same things Natasha was a few minutes ago, those moves and then some. Steve’s flying, and every time he starts to come down, Bucky’s there to catch him and fling him right back into the air again.

Eventually they slow to a stop, breathless and hanging onto each other. Bucky has his arms snug around Steve’s waist, and his face pressed against Steve’s neck. Steve lets himself be held, lets himself feel the way Bucky feels against him, soft skin and hard muscle, that damn t-shirt that really does it for Steve, especially at a time like this, when he’s breathless and worked up from the dancing.

He’s not the only one who’s worked up, if the way Bucky’s trying to be subtle about grinding on him is any indication. Steve gasps, and Natasha laughs from her spot on the couch.

“Yeah, I’m going for a walk,” she announces.

Bucky laughs into his neck, tightens his arms around Steve, and Steve gasps again. He’s probably tomato red, and he can’t do anything about it. Doesn’t really want to. Bucky is sucking kisses into his neck now, shameless, his hands on Steve’s ass.

“I’ll take the dogs with me,” Natasha adds.

“Sounds good,” Steve squeaks. His voice is a little breathy, a little bit higher than normal.

She laughs again. “I’ll be back in, like--” 

Steve looks over at her. He has no idea how he must look right now. Pupils dilated. Face all flushed. Unable to let go of the guy wrapped around him, hellbent on giving him a huge hickey right under his ear. 

“Take the truck,” Bucky says into his neck. “Go get some breakfast or something. Keys are by the door.”

Natasha snorts. “Yeah, like three hours.”

In one swift move, Bucky lets go of Steve, and before Steve can more than sway slightly with the loss of support, has hitched him over his shoulder.

“Buck!” Steve squawks. “What the hell?!” 

But he doesn’t try to remove himself from his spot draped over Bucky’s shoulder. And he doesn’t try to hide how breathless anew he is, that Bucky’d just hauled him up like that. And is being taken off like some conquest to bed.

Yeah, so that’s a thing.

“I do not need to know what Steve sounds like during sex,” Natasha mutters as she heads towards the door.


End file.
